White Noise for Babies

Ever wondered why we always say "shhhh" as an attempt to simmer down the young'uns?

Think about it.

That sound - the sibilant "shhhhh" spewing forth from the darkest stygian depths of our mouths - is actually white noise. White noise is a type of sound that incorporates just about all of the sound frequencies (in the same fashion that white light is comprised of all the colour frequencies) and indubitably has been shown to have a more than calming effect on babies, little people, big people, and animals of all shapes and sizes.

Most believe it's a conditioned response as a result of us being exposed to it for nine plump months of pure comfort before being shat forth from the womb into this zany little world.

You love this sound. Love it like you love chocolate, a deep, personal love that makes your bones feel good inside.

The soothing white noise hum of the air conditioner – a sound I’m sure you’re familiar with – reminds you of those gentle summer nights when you drifted off to sleep to this subtle drone of pure auditory bliss.

The full-length MP3 contains absolutely zero voices, rumbling, thuds, or ticks. No external distractions or abnormal frequencies are included – just the simple soothing hum of the A/C for one full hour.

There are only two kinds of people in this world, those who love air conditioners…

A field recording from my trip to the Rockies — descending swiftly from the ice fields of the Rocky Mountains, the Kicking Horse River is both a geological and acoustic wonder. It still follows the path it chose before massive glaciers filled the space between these mountains. When the great ice sheet finally disappeared, a broad U-shaped valley was left in its wake and at its bottom, the Kicking Horse River remained — a spectacular remnant of another age.

While exploring a Rocky Mountain river in 1858, surveyor-geologist James Hector suffered a near-fatal kick by his packhorse. Hector survived, and the river and a nearby mountain pass were named in honour of the incident.

The recording location for this MP3 was rather catalytic — my hubby and I were able to move the raft to a calmer area but while he was sitting there oafing away I stranded myself up on a rock for an hour in the middle of its unruly raging waters with my Sonic Studios DSM-6S/M (in a WHB headband) and Edirol R-09.

White noise permeates this soundscape through the relaxing auditory medium of constant streaming water. The overflow from the rapids eddy around to the left and to the right as light spirited waves lap against the rock’s perimeter. You can hear the rushing flow of water from the main current shifting amongst the rocks, the harmonic splash of spray, and volumes of water gushing over and around the rocks and boulders all around me. The atmosphere is suffused by white milky mist thrown up into the air by splash and spray everywhere.

Kicking Horse Rapids is a natural soothing source of “pink noise” (a less harsh and less hissy form of “true” white noise) and includes no distracting sounds of birds, planes, music, animals or people. Digital stereo quasi-binaural field recording. Listen with headphones to produce a 3-dimensional auditory experience. Link to binaural recording techniques.

I have never been more charmed by a country quite like Sri Lanka. As ubiquitous as poverty is, right alongside the high infant mortality rates, these people are albeit proud, educated, genuinely hospitable, and sedulously spiritual.

For example, my guide Carlu had an advanced collegiate degree, could speak several languages fluently, knew almost every single plant and animal by both their Latin and common names including hilarious scientific anecdotes, but most importantly he was remarkably at ease and eager to discuss the meaning of life for hours on end during the lazy evening hours.

Even though he was in his sixties, he was tireless. One morning he forgot to arrange for my brunch to be packed up for the field, so without comment we promptly stopped at a small communal village so that he could buy me a meal (equivalent to several days’ worth of wages). I irrevocably pried the truth out of him and he confessed that he’d rather labor for days than to have me skip a brunch because he was forgetful. I bussed him on the cheek and squeezed his testicles.

Carlu is just one of the many reasons that Arthur C. Clarke (author of 2001: A Space Odyssey, R.I.P March 19, 2008) lived here, which introduces how I had come to visit Sri Lanka in the first place.

A good childhood friend of mine had just returned from Sri Lanka on a business trip, and she suggested that I travel to the island country to record some of the environment because the denizens are so spiritually uplifting. Though despite the dense population, she assured me that it was also a quiet place, relatively free of noise pollution in the rural areas. The biosphere reserves are very well respected and preserved which to my favor complemented generously my existing library of environmental ambience and wildlife recordings.

She also suggested that I write to Sir Clarke, “You don’t need an address for a BAMF like Arthur C. Clarke, just use Colombo, Sri Lanka, and it’ll get to him.” Oy, could there really be such a place left in this world? I wrote the correspondence letter that same day. Three weeks later, I received a hand written letter in my mailbox from Mr. Clarke graciously referring me to several scholars and experts on nature and Carlu was one of them.

Carlu took me to the Kanneliya Forest, Hurulu Reserve, Horton Plains, and Kalutara Beach, and all four places produced environmental ambience recordings of sexcellent quality.

Sleepy Beach Waves takes place on the secluded Kalutara Beach, which is a long, narrow strip of land of situated 38 kilometers south of Mr. Clarke’s house and rests between the waters of the Laccadive Sea and a wider inlet of water to the east.

The weather and tide conditions were nothing short of perfect that evening — a crème de la crème of widely spaced waves sweeping singularly and sensuously across the smooth, moist, shimmering sand. The lush ebb and flow of waves — both distant and near — gently caress the shore as they break and recede, leaving a light hissing symphonic trail of sound as the surf ever so softly sizzles itself in.

There was no wind at all, which was pretty rare for an open beach — so I removed the microphone windscreens to allow every creamy little detail to be recorded. At the conclusion of this hour long field recording session I snapped up this photo.

Relaxing beach ambience at its best – without the seagulls, without the swimmers, without the sailors. No birds, no animals, no people, no music. No looping or layering effects were used. This is one full hour of pure, unadulterated, wholesome beach waves — both distant and near — lapping against the sun-kissed sandy shores of the Kalutara on a sleepy September sunset twilight.

This soundscape captures the most primal essence of stranded seaside serenity and solitude in 360-degree binaural surround sound. Ah… so peaceful here. Yet there’s fighting going on somewhere at this very minute. Slip on a pair of stereo headphones and dare to cast yourself away.

Ever notice how the soothing ambience of the A/C hum in public restrooms mitigates the pain of having gas, bloating and diarrhea?

And whenever I finally find an empty public restroom for a dump so massive that it requires complete solitude for the deposit… someone walks in.

Just as I’m about to ‘release the beast’, someone enters the bathroom causing my sphincter to snap shut!

In this MP3 it’s just you and the constant, completely soothing hum of the A/C and its resonance off the polished walls of an empty, dimly lit washroom at 3 AM. No people, no plumbing noise, no tomfoolery.

Dump this MP3 onto your MP3 player and carry it along whenever you’re having the trots.

It’s early spring and this secluded Ontarion backcountry wilderness river is filling its streambed with fresh volumes of spirited, sparkling meltwater. The bright, radiant reflection of watery frequencies off the crystalline snow-breaded banks, coupled with the extra revitalizing flow of spring snowmelt, creates a special seasonal sound of exceptional vibrant sonic clarity.

Several unique properties give this field recording a special enchanting aura. The location I recorded it from was unique in that I had found a large two-yard wide, relatively flat-surfaced rock that was almost exactly centered in the riverbed where I set up my mikes and baffle. The river splits and flows past both sides of the rock and reintertwines right from behind. Water is also bubbling its own nuances from underneath this useful instrumental rock.

The headphone-clad listener will be facing upstream as a full 360-degree binaural panorama of surround sound water swishes and bubbles past omni-directionally to either side and behind. As lower-pitched kerplunks and soft percussive notes of water emanate from below, eddies swirl sensuously to either side, and a thousand spherical points of sound drift across the riverbed. Cedar and pine trees alternate with oak and maple among the surrounding flora.

A minimalist field recording, Wilderness River has no birds, no animals, no wind, no insects and no man-made sounds (cars, planes, voices, etc.) that’d act to occupy or engage your attention — only the constant, continuous stress-busting sound of gentle, soothing, streaming water.

Wilderness River is a non-looped natural soundscape composed of an hour-long on-location digital stereo quasi-binaural field recording. This recording technique produces a three-dimensional audio image when listening with earphones or headphones. Bitrate encoded at 192 kbps for finest audio reproduction.

Firstly, the accent here is so endearing. The soft accents are very sweet and congenial, while the thicker accents are thoroughly amusing. I kinda wish I had a Scottish accent. Although I can roll my R’s pretty well, I can’t seem to get the lilting of the Scottish melody down just quite yet.

Scotland is just darn beautiful. It has snow, it has beautiful glens and pristine rolling hills, it has zillions of miles of unspoiled picturesque wilderness.

And everywhere that I go there is the smell of soft grandmotherly perfume wafting in the air, not harsh overpowering perfume like the kind that women smokers wear to cover up the stench of nicotine, but rather, a flowery smell soldered with the scent of a fresh, clean baby.

Another thing is the people here are so decidedly friendly — strangers have invited me out on several occasions, from which one of them is how this recording came to be.

It was a long hike before we set up camp, which I found out later was around -10°c — and even though it was only four o’clock, night was washing over us. My gore-tex alpine bivysack and -20°C sleeping bag did keep me toasty when I was basking in its warmth but come morning my boots and water bottle were completely frozen, and packing up the bivysack/thermarest/sleeping bag and various other sundries was a serious challenge with hands and feet I wasn’t sure belonged to me anymore.

Nevertheless, throughout the morning I traipsed about aimlessly through the snow–listening. Not for anything in particular, just the whole place; not a thought, not a word.

Eventually I sussed out a spot in a large area of pine trees especially chosen for its particularly musical qualities, about 20 feet into the cluster. This particular patch of trees was relatively dense which barred the wind from sundering itself, but rather, allowed it to sing its way around and over the trees.

I found that this exuberant sound is special to this particular spot, because when I tried a few other locations that were easier to get to, all failed to match the essence that I captured here. I set up my recording equipment quickly and in hushed amazement pressed RECORD.

Caledonian Squalls is a delightfully rousing white noise MP3 with 65 minutes of deep, balming winds heartily rushing through the pines of the Scottish Cairngorms.

Wandering through fields of stridulate noise, wafting on languid breezes, these winds conjure a pleasantly piquant air doused with low-pitched frequencies that lend a pensive edge to this delicate aural lattice.

They as well provide an elusive foundation for the aerial sonic stream, gradually accumulating a subtle puissance until reaching a level of heightened intensity naturally crafted to stimulate the subconscious, only to nimbly glissade back into moderate aplomb.

Excellent for both sleep and study, this wintry field recording is a breathy atmosphere conveyed by relaxing rhythms of infinite scope, naturally executed with placid restraint. No birds, animals, or planes are included.

And even if one harbors no interest in these brilliantly sculpted pine-tinged mountain topographies and their contemplative environments, this songful silvery rill mesmerizes and captivates the listener with its lush ruminative qualities, expertly banishing tension and transporting the listener to realms of contagious relaxation.

Although some parts are only accessible by boat, spend a week within and around the Small Isles off the coast of Skye in Scotland and it’ll happily dawn upon you that the beauty and splendor of this breathtaking island archipelago finds itself aesthetically rivaled only by its soothing canorous bluster and melodious maritime soughs.

This breezy seashore soundscape was binaurally recorded and photographed at Laig Bay on the Isle of Eigg. In the distance, the sun takes a seat atop the Isle of Rùm, respite from the heat of its long day — and I’m sitting on a rock tickling the sand with my feet as I replay in my mind the shifting moods and varied venues of my own vested day.

In the background, a soothing low breeze quietly bustles along the surface of the water as it spreads across the ocean and permeates into the bay. It is calmer here, and it’s somewhat of a mitigating relief to listen to the ocean’s song from this location — most of the waves and winds that would have made it into the bay are blocked by the surrounding cliffs.

The muffled ocean swells and complaisant sighing winds are in tranquil unison, and they act upon one another in joyful confluence to wash away the listener’s worries. The background breeze constantly mumbles in low monotonous baritone, the distant rolling waves are blended and modified by the ocean’s draft and multiplied by the bay’s echoing cliffs, and water from the enervated surf gently laps against the foreground conglomeration of rocks and small boulders in whispered laughs of splash and spray.

Ocean Breeze is a natural soundscape composed of edited and mixed digital stereo quasi-binaural field recordings. This recording technique produces a three-dimensional audio image when listening with earphones or headphones. Bitrate encoded at 192 kbps for finest audio reproduction.

Healing Waves features soft secluded turquoise waves breaking offshore upon long ridges of sandbars, which then roll up and wash onto the glistening coast with positively relaxing vicissitudes of both impulse and impuissance.

Designed with a view of rest and recovery for tired bodies and aching appendages, for exerted minds and exhausted faculties, for wounded hearts and disenchanted souls, this silky smooth ocean soundscape relaxes and recuperates, recenters and re-equilibrates, revitalizes and refreshes the listener with a watery cradle of complete auditory zen.

To record Healing Waves a secluded low tide area was selected, surrounded by a stunning profusion of forests and rocky cliffs, far from homes and highways in an isolated bay. Recording took place during the early evening twilight.

You can hear the low rumbling frequencies of the distant breaking waves, which eagerly precede the final overspread upon the beach. Every so often the subtle strike of ocean spray can just as well be heard lapping against the large foreground rock sitting off in the distance a little to the left of the microphones.

This specific region proved to be perfect for recording the evening tide without any distractions. The result is a pure pristine recording that sounds very open, immediate, alive, and overflowing with the energy of harmonic ocean waves.

Healing Waves is a natural soundscape digitally recorded using stereo binaural HRTF microphones and includes no sounds of animals, birds, people, voices, or traffic. No music has been added. Bitrate encoded at 192 kbps for quality listening.

Listen to this if you ever reach into the blender to dislodge a stuck icecube without unplugging it first.

The world-famous Devil’s Pool — the most dangerous natural infinity pool on Earth. Recorded in late August of 2009.

The Devil’s Pool is a naturally formed pool located right on the edge of Victoria Falls, the largest waterfall in the world. Because the water level was low, I was allowed to explore areas of Victoria Falls that were usually under heavy rushing water — so instead of overwhelming brumes of mist soaking me to the bone, I could see the cliff faces with steep scary drops to the mighty Zambezi River underneath.

Nevertheless, loud roaring caterwauls of forceful moving water was everywhere around me, everywhere I turned. The falls were spilling over only half of the gorge while the other half was somewhat dry for the moment, and I hiked along the edge. Just a few months after this recording took place, tremendous amounts of violent rushing water will be storming over my footprints. After a 40 minute hike along and through the myriad boulders and creeks, my arrival at the Smoke that Thunders was greeted by a man in khaki shorts who approached me with an exciting offer — and before I knew it, I was wading into the water with my recording equipment safe and sound in my Pelican 1500 waterproof case.

For a nominal fee you can dive off a rock at the edge of Victoria Falls into a naturally occuring eddy pool called the Devil’s Pool. But it is literally right on the edge — on the lip of the edge — of the waterfall, and you jump into a pool of surprisingly unperturbed water. But just before the river’s current washes you over the edge, you’re stopped right on the brink — mere inches from the chasm — due to a natural rock wall just below the surface of the water that stops your progress. You can only do it in the dry season though (mid-August through January or February depending on rainfall), lest you wish upon yourself a terminal freefall descent into a jaggedy rock grave — any other time of the year and the sheer volumes of water will be entirely too much for you to stand your ground.

My guide performs a running dive straight into the pool, pulls himself up and stands on the extreme verge of the waterfall. One minuscule nudge from the tip of my little pinky finger and he’d have been a goner! He hollers over the trumpeting cacophony of deafening white noise and signals for me to hop in. My heart is pounding like a kettle drum. I lay my Pelican case onto a flat-faced rock, assume a steady stance, and — GERONIMO! — lunge forth into the world-renowned Devil’s Pool.

It really is true — I’m stopped by a naturally formed barrier of petrified basalt submerged just a few inches below the surface of the water, and it protects me from tumbling into the river gorge far below. He’s proposed to dangle me over the edge. Heck, why not! I crawl ever so precariously closer towards the lush miasma of thundering smoke, the vast void of milky white floating mist — until my belly button passes over the dead-end margin of the falls and runs perpendicular to the cliff’s face.

He takes hold of my legs, and — I stoop my head to witness a bevy of beautiful double rainbows as soft squiggly rills of water trickle down my back and off into the Zambezi river chasm below.

It was such an amazing sight to behold — and such a long, long, long way down. Certainly an electrifying experience for the more acrophobic-inclined.

The constant turgid sea of broadband brown noise produced by the aggregate activity of countless collocated swiftly cascading rivulets of water stretched wide across an entire mile — married the simultaneous explosion of stratospheric pink noise bursting from neighboring waterfalls of the immediate vicinity; and the sound was like the snarling yawn of ten thousand slumbering gods — vociferously soothing with a degree of enjoyable vitality: invigorating and mesmerizing, voluminously robust and fretlessly bassful.

Devil’s Pool is a non-looped natural soundscape composed of an hour-long on-location digital stereo, omni-directional binaural field recording. This recording technique produces a three-dimensional audio image when listening with earphones or headphones. Bitrate encoded at 192 kbps for finest audio reproduction. Includes no music and no sounds of voices or people, birds or animals, planes or cars. The full hour-length MP3 includes no fade-in or fade-out at the beginning or end, so it can be seamlessly played on repeat without any distractions or sudden change of volume.

This clean minimalist recording of pure unadulerated rain sounds (and nothing else) was recorded in a small courtyard area between several houses. There was a concrete porch with a very small awning. The rich textures in the recording emanate from that concrete and the bermuda glass that surrounded the area, which adds a touch of granularity to the aggregate auditory spectacle.

The DSM-1S/H’s are amazing microphones and a lot of this recording’s magic I feel come by the subject’s movement in the sky and the static nature of the rain by which my DSM’s did a fantastic job capturing. I found a cute little rock and snapped up this photo. His name is Bunkerwuggy.

Nothing but Rain is pure peaceful refreshing rain. No birds, no thunder, no wind and no man-made sounds to distract. No music has been added. Bitrate has been encoded at 192 kbps for quality audio reproduction. Edited digital stereo, binaural-baffled HRTF field recording.

A bubbling pulsation flickers at the periphery of a small secluded snow-capped river islet during the deep calm and enveloping silence of a winter.

The overall mood is delicate, unhurried and pensive, yet frolicking water resounds through the forest air with festive mien — a charming counterpoint to the quieting force of these wintry northern landscapes.

Lush liquid melodies are peppered with surging regions of natural white noise rummaging across the vast riverbed, and a delightful level of sonic enthusiasm is consistently maintained throughout the frequency spectrum.

The binaural microphones were centered above the river about 5 feet (1.5 meters) in height. A full 360-degree audio portrait of constant running water is the result.

In the short, chilled, crystalline days that accompany the winter solstice, we find ourselves a quiet passage on the prolonged journey into spring.

We reflect on the accomplishments of the year just past, and make plans and goals and resolutions for the one to come. It is a period of active reflection, an interim for looking both inward and outward… at once.

Winter River Tarry — white noise hydrology for sleep, concentration, relaxation and tinnitus relief. Includes no birds or animals, people, planes or cars.

Winter River Tarry is a natural soundscape composed of a non-layered unprocessed digital stereo binaural field recording. This recording technique produces a three-dimensional audio image when listening with earphones or headphones. Bitrate encoded at 192 kbps for finest audio reproduction.

It’s very well known that both babies and children find themselves lulled to sleep by the soothing low rumble of an ordinary car ride. The deep, low, bassy frequencies that encapsulate you as the motor steadily hums along and the wheels gyrate and spin a zillion times per second creates a dynamic, yet completely pacifying, sleepy comforting soundscape.

Buckle up and strap yourself in as I chauffeur you down the majestic asphalts of the Trans-Canada Highway for one full hour. Destination: Snoozeland.

If you’re bored of the monotone low-pitched white noise alternatives, give this a try.

Non-looped soundscape composed of immaculately edited digital stereo binaural field recordings to exclude all audible distractions from the interior (sounds of me flipping the turn signal, sounds of contact on the driver’s wheel with the grip of my hand, sounds of contact on the pedal with my foot). Encoded at a bitrate of 192 kbps for quality listening.

A whirling fairy fabric of rapid white spray and rushing comet masses passes through a craggy incline and down a shingly pair of precipices.

Rushing across minor taluses, moderate moraines and exquisitely sculptured flood washes, jostling from side to side by the rocky slopes upon which its groves are growing, Tiger Leaping Gorge teaches the world the language of running water.

Now, Yunnan legend has it that this river gorge was named after the circumstance of a tiger leaping across the river at its narrowest point, in order to escape from a pursuing hunter.

Many people make the journey to the edge of many a swiftly flowing river rapid, but are often held at bay by a river’s final challenge. In order to cross over to the opposite side, the determined adventurer must possess skill with which to leap across rivers.

Thus far man has demonstrated meager cunning in the execution of this endeavor. The placement of such obstacles forces one to covet the tiger’s acrobatic aptitude.

If ever a time comes that the feline wages war with man, it will always have safe respite beside Tiger Leaping Gorge.

I personally prefer the sound of an air conditioner, though back then when I was in university I had to babysit a toddler — about nine or ten months of age — for a friend.

The precious little bugger wouldn’t quit squawking and was upset that mum had gone out to work. I tried to calm him down and even offered some strawberry-flavored yogurt but he just threw it at my face. Ow!

I had a lot of homework to do and a major math exam to take the next day so I didn’t have much of a choice but to turn on the vacuum cleaner to drown out his incessant squabbling.

As luck would have it, after about half a minute I shot a quick glance over my shoulder to check up on him and before I knew it he was on the couch sound asleep… humbly drooling over his plush polar bear. Fart!

I’ve also heard success stories over the years from friends and moms lulling their babies to sleep by turning on the vacuum cleaner:

httpv://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kBKby5yKjNY

Thus I’ve recorded this as a somewhat sensible alternative to burning out your vacuum cleaner’s motor — the model is a progressive upright Kenmore.

Because vacuum cleaners are so boisterously high-pitched, personal preference and past empirical conditioning (some parents use them to get their children out of bed in the mornings) are large determining factors in their effectiveness as a source of white noise sleep aid. Some people hate it, some people love it.

Ever wondered what pure environmental brownian noise sounds like? Here’s one thing for sure: this room is huge. The sound produced here is very broadband and spacious, which makes it great for sound masking.

At the foot of the environing grassy hill-dome meadows of Mount Elbrus in Caucacus National Park, a blissfully soothing mountain valley brook is heard plainly speaking and singing its pebbly words and songs across a green sedgy glade.

A perfect array of atmospheric binaural imaging blends with sedate percussive notes of water to generate a palpable tranquility.

This mountain meadow brook slowed in a wide bend, and the recording location narrowed my attention to the small drops beating on stones, glinting on angles of jutting rocks, whispering, cooing, plashing, throbbing in one waterful song — the resulting white noise ambience boasting a very delicate auditory texture combining both soporific harmonics with meditative introspection.

Meadow Brook Meditation is a publication of nature’s own written music, music derived from the rush and trill of a thousand untraceable sources — the whole air vibrates with myriad liquid voices blended that we cannot analyze.

These such natural wilderness waters are always ever varying, always so remarkably compounded. Miles of drip are distilled from humble fern moss and minerals, and no two streams are alike. Meandrous mafficking mountain water is one thing, languorous exogitative listless lake water another, rumbling rambling rabblerousing rivers another — while town water, deadened and lost, is nothing — not water at all.

Prospectively killing myself is wonderful. I recorded this last June of 2007 right on the edge of the rocks (a truly catalytic experience) at the great Dettifoss. The Dettifoss Waterfall is located in north-eastern Iceland, situated on the Jökulsá á Fjöllum river which flows from the Vatnajökull glacier and collects water from a large area in north-east Iceland.

At 328 feet wide (100 meters) and a drop of 144 feet (44 meters) down to the Jökulsárgljúfur canyon, Dettifoss is reputed to be the largest, most powerful waterfall in Europe — having a flow estimated at between 200 and 500 cubic metres of water per second.

I really like that there are no barriers or railings (at least not yet) except common sense and your own sure-footing. I could’ve been round-house-kicked down into that storming abyss of water by a Muay Thai master right out of the blue.

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